


Do You Think You're What They Say You Are?

by spacesbetweenseconds



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Church Sex, Hand Jobs, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 11:57:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2149890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacesbetweenseconds/pseuds/spacesbetweenseconds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Besides,<i> he thought to himself behind his wax-figure smile as he told her yes,</i>what would Jesus do?</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Oh, right. Jesus would’ve died. Hence, Holy Week.</i></p><p> </p><p>Louis is a regular churchgoer who gets asked every year to direct the play the children’s church program puts on for Holy Week. Harry, unbeknownst to Louis, is new in town and has volunteered to help out this year with corralling the children. In which children are adorable and say the darndest things, Harry is tragically good-looking and extremely domestic, and Louis is just a little bit fucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do You Think You're What They Say You Are?

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is one big excuse for me to quote the movie Saved! and I'm not sorry about it. Millions of thanks go to Wade for organizing this whole thing, to Emily for so much hand holding, and to V, for plot shaping, character development, and sitting on Skype with me to make sure there were actually, y'know, _words_ in this story.
> 
> Also, when I tag for Semi-Public Sex, it's because they are in the fellowship hall of a church. No one is there, and in my mind, the likelihood that anyone would come in at the time they're there is little to none. However, better safe than sorry. If there's anything that you think I didn't tag that I should have, let me know.
> 
> The obligatory PLEASE DON'T READ THIS IF YOUR NAME IS IN IT. Please. For your sake as well as mine, close this window.
> 
>  
> 
> Title is from Jesus Christ Superstar.

Every single year since he’d graduated university, without fail, Louis was asked to help out with the Holy Week church school performance. He wasn’t sure why, as he hadn’t done any theater since his high school production of Grease (read: he peaked in high school) and the only kids he was sure he was any good with were his younger sisters.

But when Sister Ethel cornered him on the walk from the fellowship hall to the coffee parlor after Sunday’s mass, he’d known it was coming. He was pretty sure that she would be terrifying mad, and he didn’t want to test his hypothesis by telling her no. _Besides_ , he thought to himself behind his wax-figure smile as he told her yes, _what would Jesus do?_

Oh, right. Jesus would’ve died. Hence, Holy Week.

He tuned out Sister Ethel as she droned on and on about the details surrounding the whole affair. He knew they’d have three rehearsals a week for the next month, where the props were, which verses of the bible were to be quoted, and exactly how to toe the line between adorable and reverent. Granted, you always had to deal with that one kid in cherub choir who insists on being held the entire time, or the one who sneezes into the Last Supper and then wipes their nose on the church’s disciple costume, but he’d done this for two years now. He was pretty sure he had it down to a science.

It was worth all the hassle to make sure that every child from the ones receiving their first communion to the oldest ones choosing their saint names and confirming their faith felt at least a little bit special. He spent enough of his adult life trying to feel special, so the least he could do was make that happen for them. Most of the time the older kids enjoyed helping the younger kids pull their acts together, and the little ones mostly loved the part where they got to condemn Jesus because it meant they could scream in church. Louis understood that much at least; he knew how crucial it was to maintain a healthy sense of mischief, even more so as he got older.

This year’s show was going to be a piece of cake. Louis was sure of it.

\---

Come first rehearsal, Louis was no longer certain about the piece of cake.

Unless that cake was Sister Angela’s fruitcake that he had to choke down and then wait for her to walk away with a “happy Christmas” before he started tearing up from his dry throat.

It wasn’t the kids, of course. It was that no one had told him (although in retrospect, perhaps Sister Ethel had actually said something in that ever so important speech that he now very much regretted ignoring on Sunday) that there would be volunteers working for him as part of him running the whole spectacle.

Well, one volunteer. Louis didn’t remember this man (boy? man? He wasn’t sure actually, and that would probably be research worth doing) from previous services, and he was positive that he’d remember a face like that. His features were positively cherubic, huge eyes and rosy cheeks and curls (though unlike Germanic angels, his were a deep brown). Louis remained unconvinced the kid wasn’t a Temptation sent by the devil because heaven was getting a little crowded and he was doing God a favor. No one looked that good. No one.

He had one of the youngest girls on his hip, though she was plenty old to be walking. She was playing with the skin of his face, delighted by the way that his skin stretched about and squished and how he made all sorts of funny noises when she poked him in different places. Cuteness like that had to be some kind of a sin. The way that Louis flushed when he thought about having children with this guy definitely was. _Who thinks about that? You don’t even know his name. Weirdo_ , Louis thought as he ambled over.

“So. Um. I’m—”

“Louis, yeah, Sister Ethel only had nice things to say about you when I asked if I could help out.” The boy reached out with his free hand and grasped Louis’ hand eagerly, shaking it vehemently. “It’s great to put a face to your name, Louis.”

“It would be great to know yours as well. That’s usually how these things go, you know.” Louis put on his patent charming smirk and watched the boy go a brighter red than the exit signs glowing in the doorways behind the altar.

“Sorry, I—sorry. Harry—it’s Harry.”

“And who’s this little darling on your hip? I’m sure I couldn’t forget a face as cute as yours.” Okay so maybe, just maybe, Louis was kind of good with kids.

“You know me, silly goose. I’m Georgia,” the little girl said through giggles.

“Of course! My little Princess Peach. It looks like you’re missing a tooth or two since I last saw you; that must be why I didn’t recognize you. You’re a certified big girl now.”

Harry lit up from inside when Georgia pressed her face into his shoulder and erupted in a tiny toothless volcano of laughter. She was one of the cuter ones in the church school, a favorite of the volunteers who ran the cherub choir because she laughed at anything and everything. “Hey, Georgia?” He pressed his finger to the tip of her nose. “Do you want to go gather all the other kids and call them to order? This silly goose would love to get started on practice soon.”

Harry set her down and she immediately scampered off to rally the other children. The two of them watched in silence as the other children were endeared into submission, and then Louis had to speak. “Aside from being unfairly good with kids, why are you helping me out?”

He’d meant it as an innocent question, but Louis couldn’t help but notice the way Harry’s shoulders tensed almost like he was trying to tuck his body further into itself. The silence before had been comfortable, but this one had a weight on it that hadn’t been there until Louis had opened his big, stupid mouth and tried to make conversation. “That’s pretty much it, really,” Harry said through a smile that didn’t meet his eyes. With a new determination undoubtedly coming from the way Louis looked like he might pry (he was definitely thinking about it), Harry turned to face him. “Speaking of kids…”

Louis looked to the stage and found about thirty kids staring them down, and he suddenly felt the urge to wipe his hands on his pants. They were all looking to him for direction, and yet he felt as though they were each waiting with a stone in hand for him to do something he shouldn’t. Louis closed his eyes and shook his head to regain focus. They had work to do.

“So,” Louis said, standing in front of the group and clasping his hands together. “Who wants to play Jesus?”

\---

It had become a game for Louis to see how well he could avoid talking to anyone else waiting in line before he’d ordered his tea, and he was nothing if not competitive. He would pay most of his attention to cleaning underneath his nails because he hated biting them and had, since deciding that he wasn’t going to bite them anymore, lost one of his favorite ignoring tactics. He’d become an expert in not making eye contact with anyone in favor of memorizing the menu and imagining whatever was in the fancy flavored things he couldn’t really pronounce or wrap his head around.

He was doing quite well in this trip’s game of being completely invisible, when from ahead of him in line he happened to glance at some frantic shuffling and turning pockets inside out. Normally, he’d just say poor sod and leave it at that, hoping that the coffee shop workers were more pious than he was, especially working across the street from a church as this one did. This time, however, he heard Harry’s familiar drawl saying, “I swear I had my wallet with me when I left my house. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for you to go through all the trouble of making it. And now I can’t even pay for it. I really am sorry about this.”

Louis normally wouldn’t be able to bear losing at his own game, but something about Harry made Louis break his own rules and step out of his place in line. “Here. I’ve got a free drink on my punch card. You can use that.”

Harry looked back at Louis from righting his pockets and gaped, his mouth opening and closing like a fish that wasn’t sure what to say. His eyes spoke the gratitude that his mouth couldn’t muster, and a blush rose on his cheeks, thought Louis couldn’t figure out the reason for the blush. He didn’t want to let himself wonder.

“It’s okay. You can get me back later. What would Jesus do, and all that. And while he’s paying,” Louis said, turning his head to the cashier and pulling two dollars and his punch card out of his wallet, “d’you mind grabbing me a black tea? Just milk, no sugar. You know the drill.” Louis grinned to himself like the cat that got the cream, or he would’ve if cream weren’t actually a danger to a cat’s digestive system.

With their drinks in hand and the blush still not gone from Harry’s face, they made their way to Louis’ favorite table—the one looking out the window that faced the church, the green of the lawn shining with residual dew and reflecting off the peeling white paint on the sign of the church, ERECTED IN 1692.

“Thanks. For that, I mean, I know it’s not much and I know it’s kind of an ‘in good faith’ thing but—”

Louis took his hand off his still-too-hot-to-drink cup of tea and placed it on the table next to Harry’s hand, trying to make playing with Harry’s fingers seem absentminded. “Tell me a joke.”

Harry looked at Louis like he wasn’t sure if he followed, but God did he want to. 

“Tell me a God joke, and we’re even.” Louis looked at Harry with the spirit of challenge in his eyes. “It only counts if I laugh, though.”

“Why did the man bring his cow to church?” Harry let his fingers be played with, staring at their intertwined hands and smiling with his bottom lip bitten underneath his exposed top teeth, a stray curl falling in his face as he waited for Louis to think of the punchline. Harry used his free hand to sip his tea concoction, swallowing before saying, mid-laugh because he found himself so funny, “Because he heard they were getting a new pasture.”

Louis groaned, pulling his hands away to cover the grin he couldn’t help but make. He tried to school his face into one that didn’t find terribly corny jokes funny, but Harry caught him in the act. He pointed at Louis’ face and started laughing so hard he honked and had to cover his own mouth, unsure how a sound like that could come out of him.

Louis was no stranger to being two guys laughing way too loud for a coffee shop to handle, but something about Harry was different from every other time he’d been here and done the exact same thing. He couldn’t see how it was fair that he’d never met Harry before now, before this year’s Easter play, and yet something about the way Sister Ethel only gave him one volunteer felt more like a sign than anything else. There it was again: a comfortable silence between the two of them, the laughter dying down and fading into nothing but the sounds of their breaths going in and out, and the slurping sound of both of them sipping their teas. Louis wasn’t sure what made him ask what he did then, much like he had no idea what kept him coming back to church every Sunday.

“Why have I never seen you in church before?” _Well, that could have been done more tactfully_ , Louis thought, a cringe running down his spine.

“Is your specialty breaking the silence by asking pointed, probing questions? Because if not, you should really consider going into that field.”

Louis paused for a sip of tea, then a breath. “I, um. I started coming to church with my family, when I was younger. You know, role modeling for my sisters, making sure they knew that tradition was important, that family came first. And I wasn’t really there for the whole religious aspect, I just wanted something in my life to be constant, and I wanted them to have something like that when I went away.” Louis looked at Harry for the first time since speaking, and saw soft green eyes staring back at him. He cleared his throat. “And then I left, and my dad left, and my mom didn’t bring my sisters to church anymore, but I kept going when I was at school. I guess it was because I was craving some kind of normalcy after everything falling apart, and church was the only thing we’d ever done that stayed the same. So, I’ve, um, been coming to this church since I finished uni, and wondered why I hadn’t seen you around before.”

Harry licked his bottom lip, tugging it into his mouth and running it back and forth across his teeth, worrying it as he stayed quiet. He didn’t look at Louis when he started to speak. “I mean, I’ve just moved here and this was the first church I tried, and it wasn’t awful, so I just decided this was the one. But I didn’t go for…some time before this. I wasn’t ready, I don’t think.” He looked like this alone was a painful thing for him to admit, as if maybe that was the first time he’d said that out loud. And maybe it was. Louis didn’t know. He wanted to know, though. Wanted to know all the ins and outs, every reason Harry ever had for doing anything.

“Harry?” Louis said, tracing his thumb along the rim of his cup’s lid. Harry slowly lifted his head, bringing his eyes up to meet Louis’s. Louis kicked his leg out to gently nudge Harry’s, smiling as he did. “I’m not sure why you weren’t ready before, but…I’m really glad you’re ready now.”

\---

Two weeks in to rehearsals, things were going smoothly, or as smoothly as ten year olds doing anything could go. They still had some time before the performance actually happened, so at this point they were still only working with kids, a bare stage, and Louis and Harry’s combined enthusiasm.

Having a volunteer (read: having Harry around) made Louis feel one step short of invincible. It was almost like they were able to get things done at practices; now Harry could be the one coaxing a whining four-year-old on his hip to behave while Louis taught the other twenty-nine kids what they needed to be doing. The older kids had been helpful in years past, of course, but most of them had lines they needed to be learning that were a little more in-depth than “Crucify him!” and “Behold! He is risen!” Louis was beginning to feel convinced that Harry was a Godsend. 

The rest of the children were currently scattered and practicing the riots in the Garden of Gethsemane and the discovery of the Empty Tomb. Louis was currently helping Dave, the boy who took on the role of Jesus, to remember the lines he was meant to speak at the Last Supper, as there were a lot of them, and most of them were directly from scripture so he wanted to make sure he was getting them just right.

“Take, eat, this is my body, which is broken for you…” Dave began muttering the stage directions that he had memorized. “And then I break the actual bread which we are going to actually have, and that’s when I wait for everyone to take a bit before I keep going with the blood…”

Louis knew that Dave had this down, as much as the anxious fidgeting might lead him to believe, and so his eyes wandered over to where Harry was talking to the girls who were meant to be visiting the tomb in mourning with Mary Magdalene. He was acting out for them how heavy the stone would be and how it would be near impossible for people to roll it away.

The girls must have been confused, because he squatted down to their level with his elbows resting on his knees. Louis overheard, “It’s like, okay, you know when you’re playing peekaboo with a baby, and you put your hands over your eyes, and the baby is like, ‘I’m a baby, I haven’t got object permanence yet, I think you’re actually gone’? That’s the face you’re gonna want to make when you come on stage and see that the tomb is empty, okay? Let me see your shocked baby faces. That’s perfect!” Louis couldn’t have stopped himself from smiling even if he’d wanted to.

“…which is poured out for so many for the forgiveness of sins.” Louis snapped back to the reality he was in, one in which he wasn’t actually supposed to make googly eyes at Harry in front of prepubescent strangers all day.

“Relax, Dave.” Louis clapped his hands on Dave’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “You’re going to be great. You’ve got this.”

“I know, I know. I just want to be the best Jesus, is that so wrong?”

“Hate to break it to you, but I think maybe Jesus was the best Jesus.” Dave broke out in a laugh at that. “We could go for second best, if you like.” Louis offered his fist. Dave pressed his own fist against Louis’, his shoulders becoming visibly less tense. “It’s getting close to pick up, so how about we all get together and practice the crucifixion one more time, and then I’ll let everyone go?”

Louis called Harry over and, with Dave’s help, gathered all the children and set up the scene. The cross they had on hand was far too heavy for the children to actually carry through the pews, not to mention that the physical cross was still in the attic until the Saturday before Easter. Instead, Louis dimmed the lights and Dave walked slowly up to where the cross would be perched on the stage. The children would sing a slow and haunting rendition of _Were You There_ , until Dave stood atop the small foothold on the cross with his arms outstretched and his head bowed. The voices then faded out, but the piano would keep going, and Louis mouthed Dave’s next line.

“Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.” _More like, Father forgive me_ , Louis thought as he plastered on a smile and brought the lights back up to normal. He and Harry clapped together as Harry congratulated them all on a rehearsal well done and dismissed them to their families.

In their intense focus with working on the scenes in the huge fellowship hall, Louis had completely missed the fact that it was raining outside. He and Harry made it to the door, the last child headed home and accounted for, and opened it to see puddles in the dips of the uneven stone steps and water rushing out of the church’s gutter system.

“Well, this is going to be a fun walk home,” Harry said, already rubbing his arms from the cool wind the rain brought with it. He was about to walk out from under the church door’s overhang and into the downpour, steely eyed and ready for anything, when Louis grabbed his wrist and stopped him.

“Not a chance you’re walking home in this weather. I’ll drive you. C’mon, my car’s just over there.” Louis pressed the button to unlock his doors, and the lights on his homely green Focus blinked on and off. “Shit, I haven’t even got a jacket.”

“Guess we’re running, then.” Harry tugged his wrist that Louis’ hand was still holding on to, and pulled him down the steps and out into the rain. They raced quickly over to the car, near ripping open the doors so that they could sit down on the dry, warm cushions. Their hair was dripping, still, but their clothes were mostly untarnished by the water, and so Louis shook his hair out and pushed his soaked fringe out of the way. As he started up the car, and put it in drive, Harry spoke again.

“You know, when I was younger, I’d ask why it rained, and my mother always used to say to me, ‘God is crying, Harry.’ And then when I asked why he was crying, my sister would say, ‘Probably because of something you did.’ Uh, turn left here.”

Louis barked out a laugh so hard that it felt like he’d been holding it in. His hand rested on the stick shift while he let one of their silences come over them, interrupted by the occasional direction from Harry. Harry, whose hand was on his own thigh, fingers splaying and coming together to give him something to do. Harry, whose eyes kept drifting to where Louis’ hand lay on the shifter, looking up at Louis’ eyes and then back down to his own hand before repeating the cycle.

Louis was so engrossed in the moves Harry was not making that he didn’t realize upon pulling up the brake that he knew this route. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I must have stopped paying attention and driven myself home on autopilot. We can go to your place, I’m—”

“Louis. I live here. This is where I live. We are at my home.” Harry finally took a moment to look at Louis full on, smiling big enough to make his dimples known. “I take your rampant apologizing to mean you live here too?”

Louis gulped and nodded, unable to stop looking at the fullness of Harry’s lips. “Yeah, um. 2F.” Louis shook his head, hitting his head with the base of his palm in an attempt to knock some sense back into himself. “We should get inside before the rain gets any worse.” He reached to unbuckle his seatbelt, staring at the buckle and wondering what had gotten into him. It hadn’t been weird at all during the three hours at the church earlier, and suddenly Louis felt like it was about four hundred degrees. He was sweating bullets as he got out of the car, looking at Harry over the top once he shut the door.

Harry pressed the main door code, a combination so easy that someone would be able to guess it even if the black print on the buttons weren’t worn from them being the only ones pressed. Louis wondered if he was as easy to figure out. They got to the stairs and Harry went forward where Louis started upwards. They smiled at each other, pausing their steps as they each waited for the other to speak. It ended up being Harry who said, “Thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah, you too,” Louis responded, as if that made a single shred of sense.

Harry let out a soft laugh. “Goodnight, Louis,” he said before disappearing down the corridor.

“Night, Harry.”

\---

Of all the things Louis was expecting when he was two glasses of wine deep on the evening of Good Friday, hearing a knock on his apartment door was not one of them. He was almost positive he hadn’t ordered pizza or gotten in trouble with the police, so he was left to wonder who in the world wanted him, and what for. He walked up to his door, plastic wine glass still in hand, and stood on his tiptoes to look out the peephole. When a massive tuft of curls bombarded his line of vision, he moved too quickly to open the door and felt a headache coming on.

“Hi, Louis, listen I—are you okay?”

Louis stayed clutching his head, half squinting one eye to look up at Harry and trying to turn his grimace into a smile. “Yeah, fine, just a rush of blood to the head. Average Friday night. What’s up?”

“I locked my phone and keys into my apartment, and I was wondering if I could come in, maybe use your phone to call the super?” Harry sheepishly answered Louis’ question, shrugging his shoulders as Louis ushered him inside.

“Wild night, Lou?” Harry asked, pointing to the half empty bottle of wine on the table. He looked around, taking in the rest of Louis’ apartment as he settled himself on the couch near the window, just next to the armchair Louis had been in before he answered the door.

“Yeah, but it’s okay, I blessed it before I drank all of that myself.” Harry raised an eyebrow. “Joke. It was a joke. Would you like some?” Louis asked, offering up his glass. Harry took it from his hands and sipped, watching with a smile as Louis refilled the glass now in his hands and took a swig straight from the bottle.

“Clearly I need to catch up,” Harry said, taking a big gulp from his now full glass.

“You’re so _funny_ , Harry.” Louis batted Harry’s arm from where he was sitting. He saw himself reverting into something Harry really didn’t need to see, so he thought of some way, any possible way, to change the topic. “Hey, speaking of jokes, you owe me another one for this.”

Harry got quiet, drinking before setting his cup down, his lips wine red and glistening. “Can I tell you a secret? Instead of a joke?” Louis nodded. “I,” Harry cleared his throat, closing his eyes for a moment before continuing. “The reason I moved here was because I got kicked out of school. I was like, really religious when I was younger, y’know, went to youth groups and church camps and bible studies and all of that. And my life had gone so well up until that point that I figured it was because I’d been, well…good.

“And then my grades started slipping. I started skipping class. And then failed more than half my classes. So when I told you, before, how I hadn’t been to church in a while, that I wasn’t ready, it was because I was furious that God was letting this happen to me. And it took me that while, and getting knocked off my pedestal to realize that God wasn’t failing my classes. I was. So, when I heard Sister Ethel talking to Sister Catherine and Father Rudy about asking you to direct the play again, I asked if I could help because…I wanted to do something good again. I wanted to be good because I was, and not because God was letting me have it.”

Louis let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been keeping in. “I’m not sure what to say, Harry. Thank you for telling me, I guess.”

“I just thought you should know. And I wanted to thank you. For letting me do this.” Harry stared for a moment directly into Louis’ eyes, breaking eye contact briefly to glance at his lips. 

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit.” Louis said, running his fingers through his hair and letting out a sigh. “I just remembered that I have to go in to church tomorrow to set up for Sunday’s show, but I can’t start until after the seniors have their evening choir practice—”

“I can help.”

“—and at the rate I can grab things out of the attic and set them up properly I’m going to be there all night—”

“I could help you set up if you like.”

“—and it’s going to be really heavy, and I have to get the cross down, I definitely won’t be able to do this alone, what was I thinking?”

“Louis!” Harry put both his hands on either side of Louis’ face. “I can help you.”

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I really want to.”

There was a moment that passed between them where Louis wasn’t sure what was happening, or why he was even considering stopping it, but Harry was staring at his mouth again and he was way too drunk to think straight. “Thanks. Can you, um. Let go of my face, please?”

Harry’s hands immediately went back to his sides as he pushed himself up off the couch. “Okay, I’m…I’m gonna go now.” Louis followed him over to the door to see him out, and they both exchanged goodnights and promises to see each other the next night. It wasn’t until Louis was bolting the door and finishing his wine that he said, mostly to himself, “He never called the super.”

\---

Louis was, at this point, practically the keeper of the keys at their church, because he so often needed to be there during non-service hours and occasionally needed to access the kitchen or in tonight’s case, the storage attic. They’d said goodbye to the choir about an hour and a half ago, and had started getting some of the lighter, easy to carry things down from the attic together.

Louis was ecstatic that it had, with Harry’s help of course, only taken them this long to set up everything, so that the only thing they had left to carry down was the cross. He knew that would be the most cumbersome prop to deal with, and so he’d intentionally saved it for last. He and Harry climbed the stairs to the second floor together, going one by one up the creaky attic stairs until they were staring the only thing standing between them and home head on.

“Well, after this, we’ve only got to get through tomorrow. That’s…comforting.”

The light flickered off, then back on, then off again, leaving the two of them in the dark. “And that’s a little less comforting.”

“Damn, I can’t see anything up here anymore. Does your phone have a light on it?”

“Left mine downstairs.”

“Me too.”

Louis flailed his arms around trying to find where the church kept their flashlights for moments like this, because he knew they had to have one. No one has a creepy attic without a flashlight. It’s the rules. He was feeling nothing but the air in front of him, walking in the dark and hoping he’d smack a wall before his face hit one. Instead he found himself tripping on some spare muslin from the costume room and falling straight into Harry, his palms flat against his chest.

He was both expecting and not expecting it when he felt Harry’s lips on his. Their mouths stayed closed, but Louis felt himself melting further into Harry’s strong hold on him, felt himself finally giving in where the night before he had pushed Harry away and told himself to stop wanting this. In the silence that their sudden kiss had brought on, Louis could hear the little wet sound of their lips pulling apart. As the light flickered back on, he could see Harry looking down at him, hair in his grinning face.

“If you get the front half and I get the back half, I think we should be able to take it down pretty easily,” Louis said, pushing himself off of Harry and grabbing the bottom of the cross and waiting for Harry to take his part. They lifted it together and started moving down the steps, Louis using the platform to balance it on his shoulder.

Once they laid it down flat on the stage, Louis wiped his forehead with the back of his hand and looked up to where Harry stood, about two feet away. Harry was looking at Louis expectantly, when Louis finally sighed and said, “Can I…do you think I could kiss you again?”

The time between Harry nodding, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed, and Louis pressing their mouths together was maybe two total seconds, and after that it was difficult to figure out where one of them started and the other stopped. Harry’s hands were in Louis’ hair, pulling Louis’ bottom lip between his teeth, and Louis’ hands were toying with the bottom of Harry’s shirt and letting out a whimper when he felt the sting of Harry’s teeth. Their tongues were hot against each other, taking turns pressing into each other’s mouths, taking breaths in between to suck on each other’s lips.

In the end, Louis was the one to pull them to the floor, falling to his knees and pulling Harry down with him, his glassy eyes following Louis on the way down as if he didn’t have the ability to look at anyone or anything else. They kissed, more, harder, Louis thrusting his tongue in and out of Harry’s mouth as Harry moved to lie down on the cross with his arms outstretched, pliant beneath him.

Louis moved his thigh between Harry’s to feel the hardness between them, pressing up against his own through their layers of jeans. His hands went to press Harry’s hands lightly down against the smooth wood, hearing Harry gasp and his cock twitch beneath Louis’ weight. Louis leaned down to nip at Harry’s ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth, moving up to whisper, “Now that’s what I call being hung on a cross.”

Harry couldn’t help but laugh at that, his cheeks ruddy from the heat building inside of him, but the laugh was cut off by a groan as Louis ground their dicks together, hard. “Please, please.”

“Please what?”

“Please let me suck you off. I’ve been thinking about it for way too long and during really inappropriate times and I’d really like to get you in my mouth _please_.”

Louis scrambled off of Harry, lying down beside him as Harry rushed to get Louis’ zipper undone. He was near crying with how badly he wanted this, and Louis couldn’t for the life of him remember why he might’ve ever said no. Harry ran his tongue over his bottom lip, leaning over to mouth wetly at the outline of Louis’ cock, still trapped within his black boxer briefs, moaning to himself about how much better it was than what he’d been dreaming of.

He whined softly, begging Louis, “Please, please I just _need_ —” before Louis got the hint and awkwardly shuffled so he could get his jeans and pants down his thighs, stopping at his knees because it looked like Harry’s mouth was literally watering. Harry moved to take the head of Louis’ cock in his mouth, tonguing at the slit from inside the heat, and Louis struggled to let him take it at his own pace. He sucked farther down, enveloping everything in warmth, before pulling off and sloppily licking up and down to get it wet all the way down to the base.

“God, you’re so hot, feel so good…” Louis babbled as Harry took more than half into his mouth at once, using his hand to cover what his mouth didn’t. He moved up and down, moaning on Louis’ cock, reaching down to feel his own get harder just from the feeling of his mouth being filled. Louis reached to grab a handful of Harry’s long hair, tugging just a little bit, and Harry pulled off with a deep groan, taking a breath and resting his cheek against Louis’ thigh, his hand still working the up and down rhythm that was bringing Louis to the edge way faster than he was expecting. The hot breaths on his dick were like adding fuel to the fire, and Louis whispered, “Harry, Harry, close, I’m so, _fuck_.”

Hearing those words pushed Harry onward, sucking down until his nose reached the small, soft bush of hair at the base, opening his throat so Louis could feel the tightness inside as he finally lost it, his muscles tensing as he shot off into Harry’s mouth. When Harry pulled off, a little bit was dribbling from the corner of his mouth, so Louis sat up, reaching to wipe it off with his thumb and shoving his thumb into Harry’s mouth, pressing down on his tongue.

“Louis please, just, fuck, I’m so…” Harry’s eyes were almost completely black, so turned on he was panting into Louis shoulder and speaking nonsense. There was a noticeable wet spot not just on his pants but on his jeans because Harry was so wet, and Louis felt his spent cock give another little twitch, thinking about how hot it was that Harry was on the edge just from blowing him. Louis unbuttoned Harry’s fly and undid his zipper, reaching into his pants and pulling his cock out. He looked down in admiration for a moment at how big it was, lightly squeezing and thumbing the tip so he could spread the wetness all the way down. Harry was so hard it looked like he was going to die from loss of blood in his brain, and so it only took a few quick strokes and pressing down on his slit some more before Harry was coming on between them, biting his lip to keep from yelling Louis’ name.

Harry was panting as he came down, his shirt ruined from the come soaking into it, but when he looked up, he was looking at Louis with a smile so bright he couldn’t not smile back down at him. Louis wiped a stray tear from Harry’s cheek, helping to tuck him back in to his pants and doing the same to himself, leaving a kiss on his forehead.

“I’d say you owe me a joke for that, but I think an orgasm is good enough.”

\---

Harry and Louis stood in the back of the fellowship hall, pinkies linked as Harry worked on sound and Louis on lights and cues. _We’re a pretty good team_ , Louis thought.

He was about to call this yet another successful Easter story done with, when from the stage where the boy who was given the role of Thomas was inspecting the stigmata to prove that Jesus truly had risen, he heard a small, yet exuberant giggle. “Whoa,” Georgia said, her voice picked up perfectly clear on the microphone. “His hands really _do_ look like donuts!”

**Author's Note:**

> hmu on [tumblr](http://biggrumpybaby.tumblr.com) with questions/concerns. Also come be my friend.


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